AN INVITATION
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bobbsey thought for a moment that “Baby May,” as they still called her, was in the box. Still there was certainly something very queer about the noises that came from the express package.
“It sure is a baby,” murmured Flossie.
“It’s a queer baby then,” declared Nan. “I can see a lot of green and red and yellow things, and no baby is that color!”
For by this time her father had removed some of the boards from the box and a view could be had inside. And, as Nan had said, there was a glimpse of something red, green, and yellow.
“Maybe Baby May—I mean Baby Jenny—has paint on,” suggested Flossie.
“Ho! Ho!” laughed Freddie. “Who ever heard of painting a baby?”
“My doll has paint on, and she’s a baby,” retorted Flossie. Then the little girl thought of the present she had bought for her father—the folding go-cart hidden in the closet under the stairs, and she cried: “Oh, do please hurry, Daddy! Open your present and then maybe you’ll get some other presents!”
“Oh, I hardly think so,” replied Mr. Bobbsey, still working away with the hammer and the screw driver. “I guess this is the only present I’ll get this birthday. It was very kind of Mr. Watson to remember me!”
Though he said this, Mr. Bobbsey did not really mean that, for well he knew each of the twins, as well as his wife, would give him something. They had every year since the two older twins were big enough to know about birthdays.